


seems nothing and nowhere is golden

by y0rick



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Child Neglect, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Gen, Sick Dean Winchester, Supernatural Reverse Big Bang Challenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-15
Updated: 2014-01-15
Packaged: 2018-01-08 20:22:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1136977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/y0rick/pseuds/y0rick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s 1987, five years to the day of Mary Winchester’s death and Dean Winchester is determined to figure out what monster is making Dad so mean.</p>
            </blockquote>





	seems nothing and nowhere is golden

**Author's Note:**

> Wow. Here's my entry for the 2013/14 SPN Reverse Bang Challenge!
> 
> Many thanks to Deb whose marvelous artwork inspired this story! And more thanks to her for her graciousness and patience. :) Please go check out her art masterpost on her lj! ( http://cassiopeia7.livejournal.com/389036.html)
> 
> Many thanks also to my marvelous betas, Sarah and Caroline who put up with my myriad of typos and got my work back to me so quickly. I am so grateful to them for their diligence and their friendship. 
> 
> Please take note of the warnings. This story isn't graphic in any way, but those warnings are still very necessary. This fic is bleak as hell.

 

Crayons and a good coloring book could easily keep Sammy quiet for a while in a way that few other distractions ever could. Dean didn’t resort to them often, worried that the novelty would wear off. Dad never thought to buy them anyway, so it was up to Dean to find a way to save some of the food money to indulge his baby brother. Sammy understood how special they were, met his brother’s smiles with quiet solemnity. He would just settle down on some broken couch or a threadbare mattress or a dirty floor to fill in the empty blank spaces with color. Dean loved how Sammy always picked the brightest colors.  

Dean had been saving money for a coloring book for a month in preparation for this day. He needed Sammy to be fine on his own. Today, Dean had a different mission.

 As the cold light of November crept through the narrow window of their shared bedroom, Dean started to slip out from beside his sleeping brother only to freeze and bury his face into his elbow while he coughed. He started when he felt fingers tugging at the sweatshirt he’d worn to bed.

“Dean?” Sammy said quietly from behind him.

Dean brought up a smile for his little brother because he needed him to stay asleep as long as possible, “Go back to sleep, Sammy. Everything’s okay.” He ran one hand through his little brother’s hair, and Sammy closed his eyes, quieting.

Dean watched his brother’s breaths grow long and slow and even before he carefully stood up. The five dollars he’d managed to save for a new coloring book were hidden just between the cover and first page of Sam’s copy of _Red Fish, Blue Fish_ , along with the fifteen dollars of secret food money Dean had kept separate in case of emergencies. He pocketed five dollars.  The crayons that Pastor Jim had sent were still mostly intact, but a fresh coloring book was definitely needed. Maybe even something with knights or King Arthur or something. Sammy really loved stories about King Arthur and his knights; Dean liked them too.

Dean pulled on two pairs of socks. His sneakers were a size too large, but they were closest that Dad could find at the Goodwill and they did keep his feet warm and dry so Dean laced them up.  He grabbed his threadbare coat off of the floor and eased the bedroom door open, only to freeze when he saw the lounge.

Dad was awake, sitting at the shoddy kitchen table. His eyes were bloodshot. He’d looked up as Dean had pried the bedroom door open. Dad had no guns near him to clean, no knives to sharpen, just held a small photo in one hand. Dean swallowed.

“Hey Deano,” Dad said, slapping the photo down on the table, “Where are you going so early?”   

Dean eased the door shut behind him. Sammy needed his sleep, especially today.

 “We’re outta breakfast food.”

 Dad raised an eyebrow, “I hadn’t noticed.”

Dean’s eyes widened. Dad had been acting funny for about a week, and this was the weirdest thing so far.  He had always noticed when Dean had failed in making sure there was food for Sammy. But Dad had deflated now, focused on the photo he’d been so intently studying before Dean had come in.

“Sammy’ll need breakfast.”

Dad nodded, and Dean waited on the yellowing living room carpet, focused on his shoes. Finally he heard Dad sigh.

“Go on then,” and Dean scampered towards the front door, “Dean,” Dad said sharply and Dean froze, one hand tightly wrapped around the doorknob.

“Don’t dawdle. Sam needs you here.”

“Yessir.”

Dean took the chance to slip outside before Dad could decide that he should come along with him. The streets were still quiet and Dean padded along, mind still working over what was up with Dad. Dad was always quiet, but he’d always had some sort of words of affection for he and Sammy when he returned home. Not this time, though. Two nights ago, he and Sammy had rushed to the front door when they’d heard the purr of the Impala in the driveway. When Dad had stumbled inside, he hadn’t even given Dean and Sammy little pats on the shoulder or ruffled their hair like he did when he was too hurt by monsters to hug them. He’d just quietly pushed them away from the doorway without any words; his silence lasted until the next morning when he’d told Sammy to be quiet. And he hadn’t said it nicely.

Dean kicked at a stone on the road, remembering how Sammy’s face had fallen so quickly as he mumbled out an apology. Why would Dad be so mean? It didn’t make any sense.  And then there was the scarier fact that he hadn’t noticed the lack of breakfast this morning, or how he was tired all the time, or constantly snapping at both he and his little brother. Well, dad sometimes snapped at him when he deserved it, but Sam didn’t ever deserve it. He thought he and Dad had agreed on that.

It was with that thought that Dean made a little scoffing noise but oh crap that just made him cough and cough and _cough,_ his own breath betraying him. Finally he sucked air into his lungs easily, but his head kept spinning. Dean carefully put a hand to his head to wait it out. He wiped his face across his sleeve when the world set itself right again. At least he didn’t have much farther to go.

The tiny little convenience store only had two coloring books; one was pink and had glitter on the front with the words “Pretty Princesses for Girls!” in a bubbly font on the cover, and the other was blue and green and had the clever title of “Fun Dinosaurs for Boys!” Dean flipped through both of them. Sometimes the so-called girls coloring books actually had better pictures, and Sammy would want the one with the better pictures. It sucked because the princesses one did have knights and stuff, but the dinosaur one had more difficult pictures, more tight corners to squeeze color. Sam didn’t like easy coloring books, and he hadn’t outgrown his dinosaur phase just yet.

He tucked the dinosaur coloring book under one arm and picked up a little bag of bagels too. The cashier looked at him curiously when he dumped the bagels and coloring book on the counter, face twisting into concern when Dean hacked into his sleeve again. When she opened her mouth to say something, Dean took the change from her, muttered a thanks, and hurried out. He didn’t want to hear her worry. Once he was outside, he zipped the coloring book inside his jacket.

Dean rushed on the way home, knowing that his father would already be antsy with how long he’d been gone, but when he came in the front door, shivering from the November cold, Dad wasn’t there. Dean shut the front door and then stood quiet in the living room. Another clue that something was desperately wrong; he’d never just left Sam alone like that. Sam, who should already have been, but the total silence in the apartment meant that dad hadn’t even bothered to wake him. _Probably expected me to. Should’ve run home._

Sam was less stubborn than usual about getting up, and he gave Dean a big toothy grin when he saw the buttered bagel. Dean left him to enjoy it. He went to return the couple dollars and odd change he’d had left over to his stash, but he flipped open Sammy’s _Red Fish, Blue Fish_ and…there was nothing there. He paged through the book, and came up empty. He turned it upside down and shook it, but there was still no sign of the fifteen dollars he’d so carefully saved.

“Dean, I’m done!” his brother chirped from the kitchen.

“Come on and get dressed, Sam,” Dean called back, rummaging around in the faded backpack that he kept _Red Fish, Blue Fish_ in normally. Sammy hadn’t even known about their emergency fund. He had thought that Dad hadn’t either.

“Watcha doin’, Dean?” Sam had come back into the bedroom.

“Just making sure I have everything I need for school today.”

He turned from his backpack, hands trembling. Sammy had already padded away from him, and was struggling to put on a thick red sweater. He’d gotten it tangled around his mop of hair, and was flailing his arms to get them through the sleeves. A smile crept up his face and Dean carefully straightened the sweater for him.

“You sure you’re old enough for the preschool, Sammy?”

Sammy was scowling when his head finally popped through the collar of the sweater, and Dean grinned wider when Sam stuck his tongue out at him.

“Come on, we better go. Is your coat in here or in the living room?”

“I don’t remember,” Sam admitted shamelessly.

“Go look then,” Dean shooed, and turned back to the backpack for one final desperate, scrambling search. There was nothing, and no one but Sammy and—

“Hey Sammy, you seen Dad today?” he managed to keep his voice from shaking.

“He came in here after you left,” Sam turned from where he was putting his little boots on, “He said that you had a book for him or something. I went back to sleep.”

Dean couldn’t breathe for a second. Why would Dad even need his money anyway? Why would he go looking? He’d always had enough on his own. And how had he known where to look for Dean’s emergency fund? How had he known that Dean _had_ an emergency fund?

“I don’t know where my coat is,” Sam was stomping around the room now, but Dean could see that he was close to tears.

“It’s okay, you can use mine if we can’t find yours.”

They couldn’t find Sam’s coat, and Dean put on a sweatshirt.

Dean usually liked math class. The numbers made sense and the rules didn’t change. And he could get the answers perfectly right, and if they weren’t, he always knew why. But he couldn’t focus that day. He’d had to redo his worksheet three times, because he kept messing it up. He apologized to his teacher, and she called him by the wrong name. Dean didn’t correct her. Teachers often had trouble learning the new kid’s name, and it wasn’t like he’d be around long enough for her to remember him.

He was glad when no one sat near him during lunch; he wasn’t planning to eat anyway. His stomach was twisting uneasily. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his teacher look his way whenever he couldn’t help coughing again. Even some of his classmates looked over at him, but he glared. He didn’t want anyone that no one would look over his shoulder when he used the back of his worksheet to make a list of all the things that were so weird about Dad’s behavior over the past couple days.

_1\. really quiet_

_2\. didn’t see that we didn’t have food_

_3\. needed my money_

_4\. knew that I had money_

_5\.  hasn’t eaten anything_

_6\. mean to Sammy_

Dean thought about how Dad had kept out the photo of mom for much longer than usual, but that wasn’t unusual at all for November. Dean did kept his own photo out too, running his fingers over her face to commit it to memory again. He’d found out that Sam liked to look at it with him, and Dean would sit close and quietly tell Sam all the things he wouldn’t be able to remember for himself. Being sad wasn’t something odd to add to his list. But the other things were frustrating because something was wrong, and Dean needed to know how to fix it.

And then it occurred to him. These changes had only started the night Dad got back from hunting. And unlike so many of the other times that he’d gotten home, Dad hadn’t taken him aside, away from Sammy, to tell him about the monster he’d been hunting, to teach him more ways to protect Sam. There was only one answer.

Dad hadn’t beaten the monster.

Somehow it had beaten him. That was the only explanation. Dean knew that a monster could make someone act differently, Dad had told him so.

He trembled. He’d left Sam alone with Dad this morning while he went out to the store. He’d left his little brother alone with a monster.

His hands were shaking too much to hold onto his plastic fork, so he set it down and clenched his hands into fists. His whole body shook in response; he no longer knew if it was from how sick he’d been feeling or from the fear that was singing through him.

 _Get a grip, Dean_. _You won’t able to help Sam and Dad if you act like a baby._

His afternoon classes passed in a blur of worry. There was no way he’d figure out exactly what monster was afflicting Dad if he only used the knowledge Dad had given him so far. He needed something else.

The answer was simple: Dad’s journal. He knew that there were monsters in there, everything dad had ever learned about evil things and how to beat them. If Dean could get his hands on that, he’d be able to figure out what was going on.

But Dad kept his photo of Mom in there. Getting the journal on any other day would have been difficult enough. Today it would be near impossible. Dean still knew that he had little choice, not if he wanted to keep Sammy safe.

School had ended before Dean could come up with any kind of plan. Sam was waiting for him in his classroom and put his hand in Dean’s with one of his smaller smiles; Dean’s stomach was doing somersaults.

Things didn’t get better.

Dad was sitting at the table again when they returned home, but now he had a beer bottle in hand, and when Dean looked into the fridge to fix a snack for Sam, he found more and more.

That’s where his emergency fund had gone.

He turned to see Sammy approaching the table, eyes huge and wide and questioning and Dean knew that he was about to ask Dad something and that was the worst idea his little brother had ever had.

“Hey, Sammy, I have a present for you,” he interrupted, shutting the fridge door, “Come over here for a second.”

He watched Sam look between him and Dad, worrying at his lip. Finally though, he nodded and reached out his hand to let Dean steer him back into their bedroom.

“Dean, what is it?” Sam asked, trying to peer around him as Dean reached under the bed where he had hid the coloring book earlier.

His fears about Dad were still making his stomach churn, and he couldn’t stop the sniffling he had to do every few seconds, or hide until his headache went away. Still, he felt his shoulders ease when he saw how Sam’s face lit up at the coloring book.

Sam took it from him carefully.

“This is for me?”

Dean nodded, laughing a little, then he had his arms full of his brother.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” Sam was saying from where his face was squished up against Dean’s neck.

Before Dean had to think about how to pry Sam off of him, Sam was already tugging at his hand,

“My crayons are in my backpack. You’re gonna color with me right?”

He needed to find the journal.

“Sam—”

“It’s more fun when you color _with_ me!”

“Sam, I can’t—”

“You should color with your brother, Dean.”

Dean wheeled around. Dad was standing in the doorway of the bedroom, leaning against the frame; he still had a beer bottle in hand. Dean blinked.

“Yessir,” he said automatically.

He could feel Sammy’s eyes on him, but he waited until Dad had left the doorway to let Sam pull him into the living room. Sam was humming to himself as he got out the crayons to set on the coffee table. Then he took the coloring book and flipped through it very carefully, running his fingers over every page. Dean couldn’t sit still; their dad was back at the kitchen table now, and he was being quiet. Dean could hear the beer sloshing in the bottle whenever he tossed it back for another swallow.

“Sam, you ever gonna pick out pages for you and Dean?” Dad’s words were callous and Sam bristled.

“I’m gonna pick the best ones,” Sam said.

“Of course you are,” Dean soothed. He could hear Dad laugh quietly from the kitchen table, but that didn’t really matter. Sam’s eyes were on him anyhow.

Sam picked soon after that, looking over his shoulder at Dad as he passed one of the sheets to Dean.

“ ‘Bout time,” Dad grumbled from behind them again.

Dean smiled at Sam and when he went back to picking between a purple or an orange crayon, he turned around again. There were two empty bottles on the kitchen table and Dad was popping the cap off of a third.

Sam passed Dean a green crayon, eyes darting with nervousness.

“Thanks, Sam,” he said immediately.

Sam smiled back and then went very quiet as he carefully colored in the wing of pterodactyl. No one filled the silence. Dean shivered. It was colder in the apartment than he remembered it being. His fleecy sweatshirt wasn’t enough He thought about slipping into his room to get a blanket—

“What? Is it not warm enough for you Dean?” Dad asked.

“No sir, it’s fine,” Dean said quickly. He didn’t look back again, but his shoulders tensed, wary. Dad was watching them; a _monster_ was watching them.

Sam kept coloring, but Dean saw him hunch over across the table. Dean tried to do as his brother wanted, to color his own page, but his vision kept fuzzing and then clearing again. He rubbed his wrist against his eyes, willing them to focus. Sam poked him and Dean managed a sliver of a smile.

“Sorry, just a little tired,” Dean whispered.

Sammy bit his lip, but nodded, focus returning to picking out a new crayon.

“What are you two talking about?” Dad asked from behind them.

Dean opened his mouth with an easy lie, but Dad had already cut him off.

“Don’t you have homework to do or something?”

Dean had to turn around to stare at Dad at that one. No, at _the monster_. For as long as Dean could remember, Dad had never really cared how he and Sam did in school. Or what they did in school. He squinted at his father, who took another swallow of his drink, and then finally noticed Dean’s staring.

“What is it, Dean?”

“Nothing, sir,” he turned his attention back to his coloring page too quickly and the world spun.

Dad snorted.

Dean heard Dad take the top cap off another of the beer bottles. No, he thought desperately, _no_ Dad wouldn’t get drunk, not while Sammy was still in the room. He and Dad had always been so careful not to let Sam see Dad drunk. He looked at Sam now. His little brother kept sneaking glances up at Dean through his eyelashes, Dean could see him biting his lip. Dean knew he wouldn’t be able to get Sammy back into their room easily. The last thing he wanted to do was make a scene with a monster around. No, for now they’d have to stay out there together.

“Aren’t you done yet with those?” Dad said from behind them, “Not like either of you is an artist.”

Dean watched Sam flinch at his father’s words; no, no, it was a monster. Had to be.

“Don’t listen to him, Sam,” he whispered, “Something’s wrong.”

Their dad was stomping around on the tiles; Dean resisted looking back at him, didn’t want to see him digging through the fridge to pull out another bottle, probably.

“I asked you both earlier if you had homework,” their dad said again, more sharply.

Sam didn’t turn around, eyes on Dean.

“I did mine during lunch,” he squeaked out, and Dean repeated this to Dad.

“What about you Dean?”

To tell the truth, Dean hadn’t really thought about homework. Not with…well, not with the day, and with trying to distract Sam, and the monster in their house. He formed a lie, but he’d waited too long.

“Your mother would be disappointed.”

The words were stolen from him. He had to turn around then; Dad wasn’t even looking at him, just leaning back against the counter to take long swallows from his beer, over-bright eyes fixed somewhere on the ceiling. Dean listened to him start to laugh.

“She wouldn’t even recognize me, wouldn’t recognize you, either, Dean,” now he looked at him, and Dean took in a deep shuddering breath.

 _This isn’t your father,_ he reminded himself, _It’s not him saying this_.

“She was always saying how smart you were,” he huffed another laugh, “She was also always talking about our long, happy lives. Shows how much she knew.”

Dean couldn’t hear it anymore, couldn’t listen to some creature wearing his father’s skin talk about his mom like that, so he stood up. His vision blurred, he’d straightened too fast. He felt cold all over, but his words were heated.

“Don’t talk about her,” he demanded.

“Do you think she’d want this for _Sammy_?” the monster snorted, stumbling back towards the kitchen table, “Living in a shithole like this.”

His words trailed off, attention long off Dean. He wanted to go confront him, but he felt Sam tugging at his shirt. Sam was shaking his head, eyes wide, so Dean retreated to the couch, feet unsteady underneath him.

“What’s wrong with Dad?” Sam asked.

The last thing Dean wanted to do was answer _that_ question, and he knew that he was crap at lying to Sam. The monster did him one kindness, and interrupted as it collapsed onto on of the chairs,

“Then again, maybe we wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for Sam in the first place.”

Dean felt the hair stand up on the back of his neck. Was the monster after his brother this whole time? He heard Sam gasp, but he turned to look at the monster. The thing wearing Dad wasn’t even looking at them, just taking another long swallow of beer.

“What do you mean?” Dean had to ask.

“It was in Sammy’s nursery,” the monster blinked, gaze refocusing on he and Sam.

Dean put an arm out to shield his brother. Sam had stopped coloring, but hadn’t turned around. Dean could feel him trembling.

“Dean, get me another beer,” the monster demanded.

He froze, not wanting to leave Sam behind.

“Dean! What are you waiting for?” the monster wearing Dad was suddenly much, much louder and Dean flinched, “C’mon!”

“Yessir,” he said. It took longer than it should have for him to cross the short distance from the peeling couch to the small fridge, but he was wobbling on his feet. Their apartment wasn’t warm; Sam was still huddled under Dean’s coat, but Dean felt himself sweating.

He made it to the fridge and snatched another beer. He staggered to the table, where Dad, or the creature in their apartment, was watching him.

There was now a little collection of empty bottles on the table, catching the dim light bleeding through the kitchen window, and just as Dean was reaching out to place the new bottle on the table, they tilted, all brown glass blurring into one indefinable blob. He lurched forward and the next thing he knew there was a shattering of glass, and he fell back onto the floor, catching himself on his palms. He couldn’t help the yelp when the glass pierced his hands.

The apartment was completely silent. Dean could hear the whirr of the fridge, and Sammy’s quick breaths from the couch, and the creature in Dad’s clothing blinked, but then his eyes widened.

Dad, or a monster, stood up, and Dean cowed on the floor under his shadow. Dad pulled him up by the arm. Dean was shaking; he felt like he was on one of those terrifying crappy tilt-a-whirls at a state fair, his vision helplessly slish-sloshing from side to side, and Dad held on even tighter, giving his arm a little shake. Dean heard a quiet sort of whimpering and then realized that it had to have been him that made it.  He blinked again and again hoping it would steady the world around him, he could just make out Dad yelling something and Dean shook and shook and then—

“Dean?” No, Sammy shouldn’t see this, Dean tried to shake Dad off again, tried to be stable on his feet, but before he could, he saw a little blur whip past him, and then Sammy’s arms were locked around him, “Dean!”

“ S’okay,” Dean tried, but Sammy was already a few steps ahead of him, pushing at Dad’s arm.

“Daddy, stop! Leave Dean alone!”

Dad let go, and Dean would’ve fallen to the floor again except Sam still had his arms wrapped around him, and they got even tighter. Their dad stumbled back. He was saying something, but Dean couldn’t understand it, whether because Dad was slurring or because the world was slipping away from him again, he didn’t know. Sam held him steady somehow.

The world finally straightened and steadied and Dean saw how their dad was staggering back into his bedroom. He slammed the door shut.

“Sammy, let go.”

Sam scowled up at him, and held on harder. He shook his head fiercely.

“Sam,” Dean growled.

Sam kept shaking his head, but it got slower and he started to blink, lips pursing and Dean knew what was coming next so he bent down to wrap Sam up in a hug right as Sam collapsed into tears.

“Why, Dean?” he was asking, “Why?”

Dean wished he had answers, but he saw that the journal was still on the table, so he’d have to make do.

“I don’t know Sam,” he said honestly, “But I’m gonna figure all of this out. You just gotta let me go, okay?”

It took a little while, but Sam quieted. Dean ushered him back to the couch, guided the blue crayon back into his hand from where Sam had flung it off the coffee table when he must’ve been scrambling to get to Dean.

“Just wait right here,” Dean told him, “I’ll be right across the room.”

Sam nodded at him, and rubbed a hand across his eyes.

 It took him longer than he expected to find any sort of answers in Dad’s journal. He wasn’t a fast reader and Dad’s handwriting was sometimes like another language, but after half an hour of poring over it, he came up with a couple ideas. Salt. If any monster is in Dad or even affecting Dad, then he won’t react well to salt. The other thing is Bobby’s phone number. He and Sam had met Bobby a couple years ago. Dad had never even hinted that they were still in communication.

Dean and Sam had both liked Bobby’s house and the junkyard, and they’d liked Bobby himself even more.

Dean couldn’t exactly pour salt on Dad, but he laid down a thick salt line in front of Dad’s bedroom door. The only phone in the building was in the landlady’s office; Dean was sure he could con her into letting him use the phone. But Sam couldn’t overhear his conversation. He couldn’t know about monsters, not yet. Especially not today. All that meant that he would have to leave Sam alone.

He was still coloring quietly at the coffee table where Dean had left him. Dean took in a deep breath and went to crouch down beside him.

“Hey, Sammy. I need you to be brave for me.”

Sam looked up at that, eyes still bright with tears.

“Can you be brave for me?’

He nodded, and Dean watched as he struggled with a little smile.

“I’m really sorry, Sam, but I gotta leave for a few minutes, okay? I’ll be right back, I promise.”

Sam was already shaking his head.

“I don’t wanna be alone with dad,” Sam said, reaching out to grab onto fistfuls of Dean’s worn t-shirt, “Don’t leave.”

“It’s only for a few minutes. I’m just gonna go downstairs for a few minutes.”

“I’ll come with you,” Sam offered immediately, perking up.

“No, you just stay here and color, okay?” He took his hands off Sam’s shoulders long enough to pick up the coloring page that Sam had been working so diligently on.

As always, it was a riot of colors, and Sam had colored carefully within the lines. Dean looked around at the dim apartment. Maybe Sammy got sick of the dull browns and greys, as much as Dean did. Sam had found away to create his own world full of color.

“It looks real good, Sam. Bet you could be a real artist.”

Sam ducked his head. Dean watched his brother’s eyes darts towards the bedroom door.

“Listen, Sam. When Dad gets up later, it’ll all be better. I’m gonna fix it.”

The familiar promise was enough to set Sam more at ease.

“Okay, Dean.”

And then he let go and quietly started to color again. Dean ruffled his hair once before he quietly slipped out of the apartment.

He’d had to cough for the past couple minutes, but he hadn’t wanted to hack in the apartment in case their dad woke up, so he finally gave in once he was in the quiet hallway, leaning against the wall for support.

He’d finally made it to the first floor when another bout of coughing sends him into a tailspin.

“Kid, you alright?”

He started and stumbled backwards at the unfamiliar hand on his shoulder. The landlady was frowning at him.

“Sorry. Is there something you needed?”

Dean put on his most charming smile.

Within a minute, he had the phone in hand. He brought the journal with him, but his hands were fumbling and it took him two tries to get all the right numbers in.

His stomach began to roil again when the phone finally started to ring on the other end, but Bobby picked up on the first ring.

“Hello.”

“Hello, Mr. Singer, it’s Dean Winchester.”

“Dean?” he could hear the surprise in his Bobby’s voice and he flinched a little, “How’d you get this number?”

“I got it from my dad,” worry sprang to life again, “Am I not supposed to have it?”

“You’re fine, Dean. What are you calling about?”

“Bobby, I need your help. My dad came home from a hunt the other night and he hasn’t been himself ever since. I think…I think there’s a monster affecting him. But I don’t know enough about monsters to know what it could be.”

“Crap.” Dean could hear rustling from the other end of the line, “Dean, I got a pen and paper, so describe how he’s been different.”

Dean opened his mouth to do just that but coughs came out instead.

“Dean? Dean, you still there?”

He finally was able to take in a shuddery breath without his coughing. “Yeah, I'm fine. You wanted to know about Dad, right?”

So Dean told him. He talked about the quiet and the beer and how he hadn’t even noticed that Dean couldn’t make breakfast for Sam. He could hear Bobby grumbling over the line from time to time, but he never asked Dean to stop or slow down, so he kept going. He’d never thought he’d have this much to say, but once he’s gotten started talking about how dad had been mean to Sam, about how worried he was, he found that he couldn’t really stop. Finally, he ran out of words.

“So, Mr. Singer, what do you think it is?”

“Kid, please, call me Bobby.”

“Bobby, do you have any ideas? I left Sam alone upstairs and Dad’s up there, and I don’t want to leave him alone for much longer.”

He heard Bobby sigh on the other end. Dean’s thoughts sped up. What if Bobby didn’t want to tell him cause there was nothing they can do? What if Bobby didn’t want to tell him because he doesn’t know either? His heart was pounding, and it took him a moment to register that Bobby has begun speaking again.

“Dean, listen. There isn’t any monster.”

“…What?”

He can hear Bobby sigh on the other end of the line.

“You know what today is, right?”

“It’s,” Dean suddenly couldn’t find air for words, like it had all been robbed from his lungs. He took in a shuddery breath, “It’s the day that Mom died.”

“Yeah, kid, that’s all it is. Your dad doesn’t know how to deal with her not being here.”

“No,” Dean argues, “No, you’re wrong, you have to be wrong. Dad wouldn’t do this. Even…even other years, he never…Bobby, he’d scared Sammy.”

He could hear Bobby shifting again.

“It’s been five years now, Dean. That’s a big deal. But about the beer. You said your dad is sleeping right now?”

“Yeah, I think so,” He still hadn’t accepted what Bobby has said.

“Get all the beer out of your apartment while he’s asleep. Pour all the beer down the kitchen sink and then get the bottles into the trash. That’ll help a little, at least.”

“Bobby, are you sure—” He didn’t know how to finish his sentence.

“In some ways, I know that it would be easier if there was a monster,” Bobby said from the  other end of the line, “But the grief your daddy’s feeling, I know you feel it too sometimes. Does it ever make you feel like you can’t quite breathe right?”

Dean nodded, “Sometimes.”

“That’s right. If you let it, that can become a _kind_ of monster. Not the kind you can keep out with salt. That doesn’t mean he should’ve been mean to you and Sammy. But that may be why he’s acting the way he is, kid.”

“But he’s still my dad?” Dean clarified.

“Yeah, son. He’s just…he lets his grief get the best of him sometimes.”

Dean wasn’t sure what that was supposed to mean, but he got that he’d been wrong about his dad. How could he have been so stupid to think it was an actual monster?

“Thanks, Bobby,” he mumbled; he felt his face burn. How much of Bobby’s time had he just waited with his stupid idea?

“Anytime, Dean. You know, you don’t have to call me just when you have monster problems, you can call just to talk.”

Dean doesn’t know what to do with a promise like that. It was so different from the standing orders he had with Dad when he left.

“Okay.”

“And bring Sammy along next time, too. I’d like to hear from both of you.”

“Okay. Thanks again, Bobby.”

“You’re gonna be fine, Dean. You and your brother are gonna be okay.”

They hung up a minute later and Dean felt that tightness in his chest that meant that he was close to crying. He pushed the thought away. He didn’t have time for tears right then. He had a job to do.

It was remarkably easy to find all the alcohol in the apartment. All of it was in the fridge, except for the one that Dean spilled, and the few empty bottles. Still he set Sam to search around the apartment in case Dad had decided to hide any of it. Sam took his task grimly and it left Dean wondering just how much Sam actually understood the situation. After they set all the bottles out on the counter, came the task of opening each one up to dump it down the sink. That bit was trickier and it took Dean several tries to learn exactly how to pop the little bottle caps off. Once he had gotten the hang of it, he set it up so that he could take the top off and then pass it to Sam who would dump the beer down the drain.

Then they bundled all the bottles into a spare trash bag.

“Are we gonna take this now Dean?”

But Dean was looking at the tired old kitchen, the peeling wallpaper, the dirty floor, the empty fridge. Mom wouldn’t have wanted that to be how they remembered her, for that to be how _Sam_ remembered her.

He smiled.

“Give me a sec, Sam. You feeling up for a trip to the store?”

Sam beamed up at him. On the walk to the grocery store, Sam stayed close to him. Dean wasn’t sure if it was because of the scare they’d had earlier, or if he was remembering Dean’s collapse earlier.

In no time, he and Sammy found themselves in the warm bakery section. Dean had taken ten dollars from Dad’s wallet. He was worried about what would happen when Dad noticed the loss (and he _would_ notice), but his plan wouldn’t fail. Everything would be fine. He’d fix it, just like he’d promised Sam.

He watched as Sam picked out a red velvet cake and grinned; that had been Mom’s favorite too.

He can just see it now, Dad’s face when he came out of the bedroom to he and Sam eating red velvet cake. He’d look sad but Dean knew that if he reminded Dad that they were eating it for mom, it would quiet the monster in him. Maybe he’d sit down for a slice himself. Maybe he’d even talk again, and Sam would stop leaning away from him. Dad would coax a couple of smiles out of both of them by the end of the night. Dad might notice Dean shivering and coughing and not think it was because he was weak. Dean wouldn’t forget how badly Dad had scared both of them. He refused to. But maybe at least it could teach him how to fight this other monster.

Maybe one day they’d win.

 


End file.
